


Heat

by Midnigtartist



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander is sad, Amputation, Hurt, M/M, Thomas is sad, firefighter/doctor au, its mentioned - Freeform, non graphic descriptions of injury, this is kinda sad guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-11 02:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8950108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midnigtartist/pseuds/Midnigtartist
Summary: Alexander Hamilton know loss, but- things like this- don't happen to Thomas. Not his Thomas





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [exadorlion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exadorlion/gifts).



> Eeeeeeeey! So if you follow me on Tumblr you probably have seen some of the firefighter/doctor au me and exadorlion have been working on. I deicedto write a little fic (hhhhhg) about The Accident that cause Jefferson to lose is arm. I hope you guys enjoy!   
> Also this isn't beta read so please be kind if there are grammar mistakes, I'm posting this at midnight lmao

 

Alexander knows loss

Even before the grueling years of medical school and the hour upon millions of hours of internships, trauma was simply a part of his life. Illness and destruction and sorrow. When a hurricane hits, nothing ever really tears into clean little pieces. But he got pasted it, decided to make something useful of himself. So that next time, he’d be able to actually help, rather than compose silly little poems for a father who never cared. And he did make something of himself, went to school, and then even more school and became a trauma surgeon. Calamity still surrounds him daily, but he can stroll confidently through the hall of the hospital because knowing he has some control over the situation, and it's not like gore ever really bothered him, anyway.

“Oh god, but the other day a guy came in missing three of his toes” Hamilton regals to his less than enthusiastic boyfriend. “The idiot shot them clean off, can you believe it.”

The two are curled up on their plush sofa in the cozy living room of his apartment.  Alexander’s laying across Thomas’ broad chest while they slowly work their way though a bowl of grapes, the tv buzzing unimportantly in the background. They almost never spend time together like this. As if a doctor’s schedule isn’t hectic enough, try to fit in a firefighter’s as well. Half the time he and Jefferson end up working opposite shifts, barely pressing a kiss to the other’s cheek as one rushes out the door and the other rushes to bed. Not to mention that their work leaves them both so exhausted that when they do get some time off together, they usually spend it napping. So this is nice, talking to Thomas is a nice change of pace, even if he’s talking about work.

“OO! Did I tell you about the women who crashed her bike into a guardrail and broke her leg so badly it ripped through the skin?”

Beneath him, Jefferson squirms. “That’s disgusting Alexander. How the hell can you eat while talking about this shit.”

Hamilton shrugs, glancing up at Thomas’ lovely face. And to think that he turned him down so many times. Lucky Jefferson was persistent. Very lucky indeed.

“A man came in today, he go hit in the face so hard that his eye socket shattered and his eye was hanging on by only his optical nerve” Hamilton says smoothly, popping a grape into his mouth as he does.

Jefferson gags dry. “Enough. All your work stories suck.”

Alexander laughs, setting the bowl on the floor so he can wrap himself tighter around the other man. “Then you shouldn’t ask about my day.”

Jefferson huffs, running the long, calloused fingers of his left hand though Hamilton’s hair. The motion makes him shudder.

“Well you never ask about my day so-”

“That’s because all of your days are the same” Alexander interjects, turning his head up so he can rest his chin against Jefferson’s chest. “Small house fire here, highschool fire alarm prank there. You hardly do anything interesting all day.”

“Yeah, beside, you know, saving lives” Thomas grumbles

“I'm the doctor Thomas” he replied cheekily. 

Jefferson sighs, wrapping his huge arms around Alexander’s shoulders and pulls him in tighter. “You are seriously making me reconsider spending my day off with you.” he mutters

Hamilton trails his eyes down to the taller man’s perfect lips. “Yeah? Well maybe I can find a way to change your mind.”

He wriggles up in Jefferson’s grasp until he can reach his lips  without straining his neck and kisses him deeply, winding fingers in his dangerously wild hair. Thomas responses in kind, tightening his hold on his waist as their mouths work in sync, drawing little noises from one another. When they part it's with a little breathless pant, hot breath fanning over the other's lips.

Jefferson presses his forehead to Alexander’s, brilliant gaze holding nothing but adoration. 

Alexander grins back. “Feeling any better about your decision now?”

Thomas hums gently, the sound rumbling in his chest. “I’m not sure, perhaps you need to be a little more persuasive.”

And with that, he rolls Hamilton over, pressing him into the back of couch as lips descend on his neck, the scrape of his beard tickling the sensitive skin.

Hamilton squawks, wrapping arms tightly around the other’s neck, but quickly he melts under his boyfriend’s ministrations. With warm hands holding him tightly by the hips and teeth scraping along his jaw, Alexander sighs contentedly as his body starts to warm with a familiar heat. Lazily he bends down to kiss and nip along the shell of Thomas’ ear. They stay locked together for a long moment, a pile of tightly wound limbs and warm skin, rolling into each other with soft little sounds of pure contentment. Thomas cards his his fingers through his hair and drags Hamilton back in for another tender kiss and Alexander grasps at the fount of his loose t shirt.

The sharp sound of a phone buzzing against the coffee table causes them both to break apart. Alexander lays his head wearily on Thomas’ chest, listening to his heartbeat against his ribs.

“Is that your phone, or mine?” he asked dully. He doesn’t really want to know, he just wants Jefferson to put it on silence and get back to kissing him all over.

With grunt, the taller man rolls back over, keeping one arm firmly locked around his waist to keep him near as he reaches for the vibrating phone with his other. 

“It’s mine” he mumbled quickly, before snatching it up and pressing it to his ear. “Hello?”

Alexander pouts, not thrilled to have to share Thomas’ attention, for even a short time. He takes up tracing the  shapes of his muscles beneath his shirt, naming them absentmindedly as he goes. 

He hears Jefferson sigh into his phone, carefully removing his arm from around him to instead run it through his hair. “And you’re sure there’s no one else who could help?” a brief moment of silence before. “Fine, yes fine I’ll be there soon” then he hangs up

Alexander frowns deeply, creases forming between his brows as he digs himself in closer to Jefferson’s side. 

The taller man sighs again. “Darlin’ I gotta go”

Hamilton grips his shirt tighter. Alright maybe that’s a bit much, but he really, _ really  _ doesn’t want him to leave. He can’t remember the last time they got to be together like this. 

“Alexander.” Thomas tries, slowly pushing them into sitting position. “I have to go, one of guys didn’t show up, they need an extra hand on the night shift.”

“Nooooooo.” Hamilton whines, pressing his face into Jefferson’s neck. “You’re warm don’t go. Just tell them you’re sick, I’ll even write you a note and everything” he offers. But Jefferson is already pulling out of his hold. 

“You know I would love to, but they need the help, and  i can’t just leave them high and dry like that, it’s not right.”

His expression sours again, so Jefferson bends over him, sweeps his thumb along his cheek and kisses away the wrinkles in his forehead.

“You suck” Alexander grumbled, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “It’s not like they need you to rescue a cat from a tree.”

“That was one time” Jefferson slaps him gently on the arm. “And I’m pretty sure it was our cat. Anyway, I’ll be home by midnight. Just get some sleep okay? I’ll be back before you even notice I'm gone.”

_ Please please stay, _ is what Hamilton wants to say, _ please come lay in bed with me and kiss me breathless because I know we won't get another night like this for months.  _  But instead he drops back into the sofa and sighs. “Fine, leave me for your cool truck, whatever.”

Thomas laughs, and it's such a lovely, warm sound that Alexander’s stomach does the little twisty thing it does when he’s longing. 

“I’ll be back soon, okay? I love you.” he murmurs, straightening back up.

Hamilton stiffens slightly, a flush rising along his cheeks. The words shouldn’t surprise him anymore, Thomas has been muttering them in his ear practically everyday since they met. High on morphine and only half awake in his bed when he’d first seen Alexander. The little doctor can still recall so clearly how Jefferson had grasped his hand as he reach over to check his ivs and asked him if ‘ _ such a beautiful man’ _ would marry him. He’s been smitten from day one. And while Alexander does care deeply for Thomas, more then he has for another person in a long time, he's yet to reciprocate those three special words. And that’s not about to change just yet.

So he just smiles up at Thomas and mutters “I know, don’t do anything stupid”

The taller man snatches up his keys from the hook by the door, flashing Alexander a charming smirk over his shoulder. “No promises”

Hamilton rolls his eyes, “Whatever jackass-” the door slams shut as Jefferson departs. “-stay safe”

He glares hard at the door, as if it were the  reason Jefferson missed his last few departing words, like it was what caused the other man to leave in the first place. But it doesn’t shrink under his gaze like so many interns tend to, so he sighs in aggravation and grabs the bowl of grapes as he stands, trapezing  his way towards his room to eat them in bed like the lonely, severely undersexed loser that he is. 

 

When he’d fallen asleep, Hamilton expected he would wake to soft lip pressing sporadic kisses across his face. Thomas’ hands roving over the sharp curves of his hips, playing with his hair, gentle pulling him from his dreams with inconet, nonsensical mumbling in his ear. He expected to wake and find the taller man slot against his back, larger frame bathing him in a wave of heat. But when he blinks the sleep back from his eyes the bed sheets are still as frigid as when he’d curled up beneath them earlier that night.

The immigrant yawns, raising his arms above his head, back arching and toes fanning out as he stretches out his heavy body. Then he rolls to his right with a little grunt and checks the time on the clock by the nightstand. According to its pale numbers, it’s nearly one in the morning. His brow furrows, Jefferson said he’d be home by now, what a lying prick. Hamilton huffs sweeping some stray hair out of his face and trying not to feel to disappointed. It’s not like it matters, already it’s too late for them to do any of the things he had planned on, seeing as his shift starts at five. Even if Thomas  walked through the front door this very second, the most they could do is cuddle up and sleep for an hour two so he wouldn’t be late for work.

Speaking of work, Alexander hadn’t  woke by his own volition. His work phone is vibrating desperately on top of the nightstand, screaming for his attention and suddenly he’s quite glad Thomas isn’t here. He often finds it twice as hard to roll himself out of the bed when the cradle of the taller man’s arms is so inviting that he can barely keep his eyes open. But Jefferson isn’t here and he feels like he’s drowning in a never ending sea of icy blankets, so he shuffles over to the edge of the bed with another trembling little stretch and snatches up his phone. 

“Dr. Hamilton speaking” he mutters groggily, burying his face back into the warmth of his pillows. “What do you need?”

Whoever it is on the other end of the line, he’s still to out of it to decipher exactly who it is but it sounds vaguely like Laurens, starts to babble rapidly, faster than Alexander’s sleep addled mind cares to keep up with. There’s a tense edge in the nurse's voice as he tries to explain the whole situation in one breath. Something about an accident, being under staffed and burn victims, it's enough to get Hamilton to grumply toss back his blankets and  swing his feet over the side of the mattress.

He runs a hand through the tangled mess that his hair has become and pushes himself upright. “Alright John, breath, i'm on my way over right now.” he grumbles.

“Oh thank god” John breaths in the phone “Because it’s just Angie here tonight and we have at least four people who need immediate care on the wa-”

“I get it, I’ll be there in a few” he interjects, rather rudely he thinks as he plays the words back in his head. But really- it's practically one in the morning, he has the right to be a little snippy.

Laurens sighs, and Alexander can practically see him rubbing his temples on the other end. “Alright, I’ll have Eliza meet you on your way up to explain what’s going on, but hurry.”

The line clicks as the other man hangs up, leaving Alexander to drag his ass out of bed and into the bathroom.

Forty minutes later Alexander is pushing his way through the glass doors leading into the hospital’s ICU, long hair swept out of his face, in a simple pair of scrubs and  his lab coat, feeling significantly  more alert than before as the all too familiar sounds surround him. Of dozens of pairs of sensible shoes flitting across the linoleum, of the squeal of gurney wheels and the slamming of distant doors and other doctors barking out instructions. Just as John had promised, Eliza waits for him near the door, falling seamlessly in pace beside him as he strides purposefully in the direction of the operating rooms.

“Alexander” she greets him, sweet voice tense with stress as she hands a small file over to him.

“What happened?” he asks.

The young nurse bites down on her lip. “A burning building collapsed on twenty second. Almost everyone made it out unharmed, but three civilians and two firefighters were still inside when the building started to come down. The  civilians are mostly unharmed aside from some smoke inhalation and one is being treated for third degree burns on her upper arms and back.”   
They turn a corner, three other nurses rush passed them as them go, jogging in the opposite direction. 

“And the firefighters?” he asks tensely. It makes him uneasy. Ever since he started dating Jefferson the thought of injured first responders makes him tense, it hits just a little too close to home. Because, what if one of these times Thomas-

He  shakes the idea from his head, quickly derailing that train of thought before his hands start to shake. His Thomas is smart, smart enough to keep himself out of trouble. He’s probably sitting in the waiting room right now, to support his fellow firefighters and, knowing him, wanting to see Hamilton. He smiles softly at the thought, the image of his towering boyfriend springing up to gather him into his arms, with his hair all matted from his helmet. Jefferson is such a sap sometimes.

Beside him Eliza fidgets. “I’m not sure yet, last I checked they were still in transit, due to arrive any minute now, but the EMTs called ahead to make sure we had an open OR, apparently one of them is severely injured and unconscious, but that’s all the information we have.”

Hamilton sighs, not thrilled with having so little time to prep for some mystery surgery. “Well let me know as soon as they’re here and stable enough for surgery, alright?”

“Of course.” She nods curtly before turning off down another hall, leaving Alexander to make the rest of the trip with only his wayward thoughts to keep him company. He muses momentarily if he has enough time to give Thomas a call, not because he’s worried or anything because Thomas is obviously fine, he’s always fine but- It would make the surgery a lot easier if he knew for sure. His fingers twitch down towards the pocket of his coat longingly. Just a quick call, hearing his voice would put him at ease.  But then he hears the telltale alert that an ambulance has just pulled into the dock, so he doubles his pace to meet the incoming patients on their way in instead.

More distant crashes as doctors and nurses guild the gurneys though heavy sets of double doors. More shouting and more pounding feet, growing closer every bounding step Hamilton takes. He pushes his way past a huge set of doors and rounds a corner, huffing a little. He's a doctor after all, not an athlete. But as he continues down the hall, a lighter, more frantic set of footsteps reached his ears. 

Laurens comes dashing around the bend in the hall  that the gurneys are headed up, face bright red and eyes wide. He comes skidding to a halt in front of Alexander, effectively blocking him from heading towards the patients or the OR. He stumbles, the immigrant reaches out to steady him with hands on his shoulder, startled  by his friend’s panicked features. He’s usually quite calm in these situations, the accident must have been pretty gruesome to rile him up like this.    
“John what’s going on” he asks gently, still holding him by the shoulders.

Panting, Laurens, clasped a hand on his shoulder. “Alex- its Jefferson”

Alexander blinks, then rolls his eyes. Like he’d expected, Thomas must have ridden over with one of the injured firefighters. He must have asked John to find him, so he could say hi. 

He sighs “Just tell Thomas to sit in the waiting room for a little, I’ll go see him once I’m done.” he pats John on the shoulder and makes to continue down the hall, but the other man’s grip on him tightens. Alexander tosses him a questioning look.

Laurens is gaping at him, brown eyes still wide and round with shock. 

He roll his eyes again, this time more fiercely, pulling his arm from John slackening grip. “Come on John, really, I have to get to the OR.”

“You’re not doing this operation Alexander.” a firm, feminine voice calls out.

From over Laurens’ shoulder Hamilton spots Anglica striding briskly towards them, her mouth pressed in stern line. She stands shoulder to shoulder with John, barely an inch shorter then him, and crosses her arms, the two of them making a sizable wall in his path.

Alexander sighs in exasperation. “Then why the hell do you drag me out of bed if you’re not going to let me do my job?”

Anglica glares at Laurens. “I thought I told you to tell him “ she snaps

“I did” he stresses.

“Tell me what?” Hamilton says, his brows furrowing deeply. 

She turns back to him, her gaze suddenly a lot softer than before, almost pitying.

“Alexander” she starts softly “Thomas was one of the injured firefighters they brought in.”

The little doctor stiffens, like he just stuck a fork in an outlet.

“That’s not fucking funny Angie.” he spits.

Anglica still watches him with gentle eyes. “I’m so sorry Alexander, I wish that I was joking.”

Hamilton’s legs give a dangerous wobble as the weight of what she said sinks in. His heart feels like lead in his chest, pumping liquid nitrogen through his veins, chilling his fingertips until they burn blue with frostbite. Bile churns in his stomach and his knees finally give way, cause him to collapse back against the pristine white hospital walls, hands scrabbling for purchase. 

There’s no way, it has to be some kind of mistakes. Who ever they just brought in can’t be Thomas. Not his thoughtful, annoying, affectionate boyfriend. Not the man that puts the dish back on the highest shelves just so Alexander has to ask him for help. Not the same Thomas that used to sit in the waiting room, waiting for him to get off of work, just so he could have an excuse to walk him to the car. Not the Thomas that picks him up with ease and tucks him into bed when he falls asleep on the couch, or tries to tote him around like a backpack when they’re in public. Not  _ his _ Thomas. No, it just can’t be, it can't be, because-

Alexander feels his hands start to tremble, face flushing with a wave of angry tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. Please, fucking please don’t let it be his Thomas.

The double doors at the end of the hall fly open with a tremendous bang, causing Hamilton to snap his head up in  the direction of the shouting voices. Half a dozen or so hospital staff come flying down the hall behind Laurens and Angelica, pushing a screaming gurney towards the ER, and laying on it's simple cot, is a ridiculously long figure in a burnt uniform.

_ “THOMAS!” _ Hamilton launches himself after the gurney, after Thomas, only for Laurens to catch him with arms around his middle. He thrashes against his friend's hold, desperate to break his grip and get to Jefferson before he disappears completely down the hall. But John is much stronger then him and his hold is like iron, but that doesn’t kept him from trying. Alexander twists and kicks and strains to no avail, hot, panicked tears spilling over his cheeks.

“Let go of me!” he bellows, clawing at Laurens’ hands so they’ll relent.

But then Angelica is placing firm hands on his shoulders, restraining him even more. “Alexander calm down, please.”

Hamilton shakes his head violently ,watching with abject horror as the doctors wheel Thomas around the corner and out of sights. “I need to see him _ please! _ Please I-!” he chokes on his words, causing his breath to hiccup painfully.

“You know I can’t let yo-”

“Is he alright, is he going to be okay!? Will he- fuck! Is he breathing?!” he shouts. Then he collapese boneless into Laurens’ arms, suddenly exhausted. “Fuck- god, please let him be alright.”

Yes, Alexander Hamilton  knows loss. 

But how many times can he be expected to lose everything- and still pick himself up out of the wreckage? 

Thomas is his everything. If he were to lose him- he’s not sure what he would do.

Angelica smooths her hands across Alexander’s shoulders in an almost motherly way. “He’s stable, they had him on oxygen when he came in but he’s still in a lot of pain.”

Hamilton squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back the tears trying to spill over, forcing them back down. He can’t afford to be weak like this now, not when Thomas, _ his _ Thomas needs him, but he just feel so- pathetic, and helpless, and he hates it. He hates that he was- is powerless to help, that there’s nothing he can do. The knowledge that it's all out of his hands makes him feel sick, like being on a rollercoaster, at the mercy of the rickety cart propelling him along.

“What happened.” he asks weakly, staring at the tiles on the floor. 

“Thomas was still in the building when it started to collapse.” Angelica explains, letting her hands slowly drop from his shoulders. “He was on the second floor when the beams gave way and he fell through to the lower level, and his arm was trapped under some debris. The fall also dislodged his mask, he passed out moments later do to smoke inhalation.”

Every word is like a dagger to his chest, knocking the air from Alexander’s lungs with every thrust of the blade. Yet he doesn’t stop her.

“By the time they were able to get to him, he had moderate third degree burns along his left arm, back and the upper left side of his chest. They got him out and on an oxygen tank right away but- there was nothing they could do about his arm....”

A long, heavy silence hangs above them, bending Hamilton’s back into a submissive curve as he lets all this information wash over him.

Thomas. His poor, brave, stupid Thomas

“John why don’t you run to Alexander’s and get him something more comfortable to wear? He’s in no condition to work but I doubt he’ll go home.” Angelica says carefully.

“Right” Slowly Laurens loosens his hold around Alexander’s waist, releasing him completely once he’s sure the shorter man can stand on his own to feet. He sways unsteadily for a moment, but doesn’t collapse. So he takes off briskly down the hall, leaving the other two behind. 

After another brutal stretch of silence Alexander lift his head to peer up at Angelica. “What did you mean- when you said there was nothing they could do about his arm?”

She shifts uncomfortably, unable to meet his eyes as she answers. “Thomas’ arm was- trapped beneath heavy debris for a considerable amount of time and was severely damaged as a result.”

“How bad is ‘severely’”

She sighs, clearly she doesn’t want answer but Alexander has to know, damn it. “The bones in his forearm were shattered and the muscles completely crushed. There was nothing they could do to save the tissue.”

Alexander’s stomach drops through the floor. “You want amputate, don’t you.”

Finally Angelica meets his gaze, looking exhausted, drained. “Yes, you know that crushed muscle releases potassium, and myoglobin into the bloodstream. The sooner we do the operation, the better his odds of survival are.”

‘You can’t just- amputate on a whim!” he chokes. As a medical professional he would never uses words like ‘hack’ or ‘mutilate’ to describe what they do, every incision or cut a  doctor makes is precise. But when it’s Thomas on that table, Thomas’ arm, it almost feels barbaric. 

“Amputation is always our last resort, you know that, but Alexander, his arm is dead, there’s nothing we can do and if we leave it, it's only going to end up hurting him.”

Hamilton slumps back against the wall. “Why are you telling me this?”

“You're his only emergency contact,” she says softly. “And sinces he’s unconscious, the decision falls to you.”

“Jesus-” He press the heels of his palms to his eyes. “... He won’t be happy when he wakes up.”

“No one is ever happy about amputation, but there’s nothing else we can do for him” Angelica replies softly. 

Alexander pulls his hands away, staring hard at the other doctor until she meets his gaze. “If I hadn’t been here, if you hadn’t been able to get a hold of me-?”

“I would already have Thomas put under by now” she mutters. “But I told them to wait for you to make the call.”

Alexander sighs, dropping his chin to his chest and focuses on breathing. He’s too close to this, and he knows that. His feeling are impairing his rational judgment, he’s no place to make this call. So he shakes his head weakly. 

“Do what you think is best” his face is growing hot again with unshed tears. “Just- leave as much of it as you can, okay? He’s such an oaf.” a weak, non committal chuckle falls from his lips. “He’ll need as much extra balance as he can get...”

“We always try” Angelica says gently, carefully touching his arm in a comforting gesture. 

But as she truns to go he snatchs her wrist. “Angie wait”

She glances at him warily over his shoulder, eyebrow raised in question.

“Just-” he chokes on the words, they’re thick and sticky on his tongue. “Please don’t let him die. I-”

She nods, forcing a cheap, sympathetic smile onto her face. “I will take very good care of Thomas for you.”

“Good” He nods numbly. “Good, good.” he drops her delicate wrist. “Thank you”

“Alexander go to the break room, sit down, drink something” she says in her big sister voice, forceful yet patient. “It’s going to be a long surgery, take a nap.”

So Hamilton follows her instructions, wanders dazedly to the staff lounge, grabs some coffee, and curls himself up on the sofa. He doesn’t nap like she suggested, he’s to wired, too worried to even fathom closing his eyes. Instead he's sits up, sipping his coffee and watching seconds tick past on the clock until his brain feels like it's melting and the numbers start to blur together. People come through, asking him what happened, offering condolences. It's all white noise in the back of his mind, annoying buzzing, especially those who pester him for details. He doesn’t acknowledge any of them, simply takes their gentle pats on the back and tight lipped smiles and cheap, comforting words, silently praying for them to all fuck off. Beneath the layers of anxious fear and panic pressing against the inside of his skull, embers of annoyance start to smolder. These people- none of them have any idea what he’s going though. They can’t possibly know what it feels like to be helpless like this. He’s a doctor for christ sake, and when the person he cares about the most needs him, he’s powerless to do anything. The cold coffee curdles in his mouth so he sets the cup down on the side table and brings his knees up to his chest. His shoulders start to tremble, tiny frame wracked with dry, soundless sobs as he quickly buries his face in his knees, wrapping his arms tightly around them. He’s exhausted, he wants to scream, he wants to find that stupid fucking building that did this and burn it down all over again. But mostly, he just wants to let loose and cry. 

But he can’t. He just- can’t find it in himself to be weak like that, people shouldn’t be worrying about him, he’s not the one that’s hurt. He doesn’t have the right to cry. Not when Jefferson is-

He lets loose a sharp gasp that would have been a sob if his chest weren’t squeezed so tight and punches the sofa as hard as he can. His fist springs back up lamely, not even a dent left in the cushions’ stiff fabric .  His chest heaves again, lungs screaming as he slumps over his knees and twists his fingers tightly into his hair, pulling on chunks of it until straids threaten to snap under the strain. 

It’s not fair, he thinks bitterly, eyes hot and stinging, it's fucked up and cruel.

 

John shows up not long after, toting two plastic bags on his arms. One is food, a sandwich and some soup from the  Panara down the street. The heat and the smell of it help to ease some of his stress, but when he brings the sub to his lips, Alexander suddenly feels sick. Still, he eats to appease a worried Laurens, even if it takes him far to long to force himself to swallow, the cheese and turkey like paste in his mouth. The soup is a little better, he doesn't have to chew as much and the broth warms him from the inside out, slowly chipping away then ice forming on his numb fingers. 

In the other bag Laurens packed him change of cloths. Hamilton’s worn, flannel pajama bottoms, an old t shirt, some fuzzy socks, and one of Jefferson’s oversized sweaters. It’s big on Thomas, but Alexander is practically swimming in the soft, mauve fabric, hands and knees swallowed up. As soon as John leaves, he buries his face into the collar. This is his favorite of the sweater Jefferson has not so conspicuously moved into his apartment. It smell like him. Like pretentious foreign coffees and pointlessly expensive perfume that Alexander still can’t understand why he wears it, when he often comes home reeking smoke and sweat anyway. Yet Hamilton has grown so used to the scent now that he would probably kill Thomas if he ever stops dousing himself in it. With a weighty sign, the immigrant curls himself into the sofa, closes his eyes and just continues to breath in the comforting smell.

 

He must have passed out at some point because when he next opens them he feels like shit, like someone ran him over with a steam rollers awful. Eyes heavy, head pounding, his limbs are awkward and numb and pins prick in his left foot. He grunts somewhere in the back of his throat as he rolls over, out of the stifling heat between himself and the back of the couch. He hardly gets a moment of peace before thoughts the accident come screaming back to the forefront of his mind, leaving him cold and sick once more. Alexander drapes an arm over his face in disgust.

_ What kind of boyfriend sleeps while his partner is in surgery? _

“You’re being too hard on yourself” a tired voice informs him.

Hamilton shoots like a spring, whipping his head in the detection of the door. An utterly exhausted Angelica is shuffling her way over to the arm chair opposite him, practically dead on her feet if the way she staggers is any indication. Her hair is wild and frazzled, sticking out in every direction and her usually bright eyes look dim. She collapses into the chair and lays her head against the back of it, sinking down into the cushions.

Not groggy or cold anymore, Alexander practically throws himself from the couch, lunging across the floor to knee beside the barely conscious surgeon. 

He grips one of her hands tightly. “How is he? Is he all right, is Thomas alright?”

Angelica mumbles something incoherent under her breath, Hamilton squeezes her hand tighter still. “He- He’s fine, the surgery was a perfect success. No complication whatsoever.”

Alexander melts, tension easing from his shoulders, taking a weight off his chest.  Because Thomas is okay, the worst of it is over.

“Can I see him.?” he asks breathlessly, heart hammering in his ears.

The other doctor peers down her nose at him. The procedure seems like it aged her twenty years. Her cheeks are almost sunken, eyes dull and heavy and creased with wrinkles. With a jolt he remembers that Angelica knows Jefferson too, and yet she still performed the amputation. She’s amazingly strong, he can’t even begin to understand what that must have been like. But he has more pressing issues at the moment, shuffling closer, Hamilton tugs at the sleeve of her coat. 

“Can I see him, please”

Angelica sighs. “Alexander, they just transfer him over to post ops an hour ago. He’s not even conscious yet.”

“Please Angie.” he begs. “Please, you have to tell me the room number. I have to go see him.”

He turns big doey eyes up at the women slouched in the chair, pleading with his earnest expression. He wants the be the first thing Thomas sees when he opens his eyes. It’s going to be rough for the other man, amputees grieve heavily for their separated limbs, needing emotional therapy along with the physical. Alexander needs to be there, to hold him, kiss him and comfort him, to tell Thomas he loves him, because god damnit how has he not said it yet. It’s fucking bullshit that he hasn’t, that he’s been too nervous to say it before. He’ll never forgive himself for not says those three little words before Thomas left last night. That could have been the last chance he ever got to tell him how much he adores him, and like a fucking child he hadn’t. He’s been taking advantage of their time together, because he’s seen enough tragedy to last him three lifetimes, because this kind of stuff happens to other people, not to Thomas. Alexander will never make that mistake again.

“Please let me see him” he mutters weakly, pray Angelica will be merciful.

The air in the little break room turns palpable for a moment as Angelica bites down on her lower lip. Then she sags back into her seat. “Fine” she relents, and Hamilton goes ridge, ready to spring up from the floor. “He’s in room 234 in post ops, but please, try not to work him up the last thing he needs is more excitement.”

Heat prickles in the corners if his eyes again, but these are happy tears that he’s pushing back. Leaping to his feet with far more energy than a man who only got a questionable amount of sleep should have, Alexander presses a chaste kiss to her cheeks.

“Thank you” he says breathlessly, squeezing her hand tight once more.

Angelica squeezes back. “Just promise me that you’ll at least walk down there, give him a little more time to settle in.”

He nods vigorously, dropping her and turns to sprit out the door, ignoring his companions exasperated sigh. 

 

He races through the halls , stumbling as he trips over his own feet in his haste, heart pounding in his chest. No elevator, the room is only a floor away and if Alexander has to stand still he feel as though he might implode. SO instead he takes that stairs two at a time, hardly anyone ever uses them so they’re void except for the slap of his rubber heels on the old steps. Bursting through the landing two flights up, he veers left, huffing for breath but he still pushes his legs to move fast. Thomas is so close now. In his head, the little doctor keeps replaying the moment from the night before. Of a handful of other  doctors steering Jefferson’s prone from away from him, the gurney wheels still scream in his ears, a high pitched whail. The memory  some how gets him to move fastest. 

224

226

228

Hamilton is choking on air now but he doesn’t care

230

232

One more door

234

Alexander pushes his way inside as quickly and as quietly as he can, letting the door fall closed behind him as he steps into the room. He wants the privacy. 

The room is just like all the others in the ICU. Pale, baby blue walls, devoid of any ornamentation aside from a single wall mounted tv and sad looking picture of sunflowers in a blue vase. There’s a lone window on the far wall, and beyond it, the sleepy early morning sky, a dark navy with hints of purple and yellow at its edge as the sun just begins to peek over the horizon. And of course, there’s the steady, rhythmic beeps and pings of all the medical apparatus. Towering silver and white machines with large displays that flash different, vital information at him stand clustered around a single no descript bed, and the tall, dark skinned man that occupies it.

Alexander sucks in a breath.

It’s almost physically painful to see Thomas like this. He lays stretched out in the bed, face calm and placid as the anaesthetic works it way out of his system, his usually energetic curls now hang limp and matted around his tired face. They have him hooked up to oxegen, he notes with a growing feeling of sorrow.  A thin tube strung over his ears to keep the little apparatus pressed into his nose. IVs  grow little tendrils from his arms- or arm actually. Jefferson right arm is stabbed with so many tubes Alexander doesn’t plan to count, and his other- 

Where Thomas other arm should be resting limply against the bed sheets, there’s nothing, nothing but a bandaged stump right where his elbow joint used to be. Hamilton blinks, half expecting to open his eyes and find the arm in its entirety there, but the empty stace that the limb should have occupied glares accusingly up at him instead. 

He takes a staggering step towards Thomas, then  another, trembling fingers outstretched to touch the places where his arm ends, but he stops just shy of the bandages. His hand quivers as it hovers mere inches from what’s left of his boyfriends’ arm, because in truth, Hamilton is terrified that he might hurt him. Jefferson’s chest is bandaged up too, to cover up his burns. The white gauze wraps around a considerable amount of his broad chest and his left shoulder. And he looks, almost frail  like this, so delicate that Alexander is almost afraid to breath on him, like Thomas might shatter under his gaze.

No matter how much the little doctor likes to boast his title, Thomas has always been the one taking care of him. Making sure he sleeps, and gets to bed, he even packs him lunches because he know Alexander will eat if he thinks he’s wasting food. He’s always been so strong, Alexander uses to get annoyed when the taller man would grab him from behind and swing him around like a rag doll, laughing despite his protest. Right now, he’d give anything for that. 

Tears start to roll down his flushed cheeks, pooling on his jaw before they plink, one after the other onto the cold tile, and Alexander lets them fall. He doesn't stifle the whimpers as they fall from his lips this time. Dispute how embarrassing it is to be this weak and this childish, he can’t seem to stop them now. It’s okay if he cries now, right? Hasn’t he been strong enough though this whole ordeal? He’s been so brave for Thomas, he can have this break down right? He’s earned this much, hasn’t he? The narrative flows through his mind like the steady flow of a river and makes him cry harder, shoulder’s shaking. How pathetic, how dumb that he’s crying. What a stupid thing to cry about, Thomas is alive, why is he crying? He trembles as the tears continue to roll, he makes no move to whip them away, just shuts his eyes and let's all these things wash over him like the merciless undertow.

His grief, his joy, his pain, his shame, and their loss.

Suddenly Jefferson groan, Hamilton watches with he breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat as the lanky man shifts, slowly stirring awake. He blinks slowly, eyes unfocused as he pulls them open and lets his gaze trail around the room. It doesn’t take long for them to find Alexander’s.

Thomas smiles groggily up at him. “Alexander?”

He nods frantically, biting down on his lower lip to suppress his shaky breaths.

Jefferson’s sleep heavy eyes narrow. “Angel, why are you crying?” he raspy, throat no doubt sore from the smoke he inhaled.

Hamilton can’t stop the sob that forces its way out of his mouth, with such force that it hurts him to make the panicked, desperate noise. He buries his burning, tearstained face in his hands. “Fuck you!” he chocks.

He hears Thomas chuckle weakly. “Maybe I  _ should _ have called in sick, hu?”

And just like that Alexander can’t help himself anymore. With another cracked sob, he throws himself at the Virginian, clambering into the bed with him to press his face to his chest.

“D-dumbass” he wails, curling his fingers against the  bandages while still trying to be mind full of the many tubes hooked up to his boyfriend’s arm. “I thought- When they wheeled you in I thought- fucking christ Thomas!”

An arm wraps carefully around his back, hand rubbing circles into his shoulders. “Hush darlin’ shush. Fuck Alexander, I didn't mean to scare you, shush shush, it’s alright now.” he sooths.

Alexander nods slowly, pressing his face still deeper into the other man’s chest. 

They lay like this for a moment, Hamilton listening to the steady beat of Jefferson’s heart, a warm reminder that he’s here, damaged and battered or not, he’s here and he’s breathing. They’re going to be alright.

But suddenly Thomas goes stiff around him. A horrible tense moment passes in utter silence before he hears him whisper.

“-the fuck...?”

Then, louder and more frantic

“What happened to my arm?!”

Shit, right, maybe the first words out of Alexander’s mouth should have mentioned that little detail.

The beep beep beep of Thomas heart monitor grows faster. He’s panicking. Quickly Alex draws back, so he can see Jefferson fully. The man is gaping down at the stump of his arm, mouth working silently, with eyes wide and horrified. 

“Where the  _ fuck _ is my  _ arm _ ?!” he shouts hoarsely.

“Thomas” the immigrant places a firm hand on the Virginian’s unharmed shoulder, pulling out his doctor voice as he continues to talk. Slowly, calmly. “ You just got out of surgery so don’t strain yourself.”

Jefferson stares up at his with wild eyes. “Don’t  _ strain _ myself?! My arm is-”

“Yes, your arm is gone, they had to amputate it. There was nothing else they could do.”

“I- I” he seems to be struggling from breath, so Alexander squeezes his shoulder reassuringly. Thomas gulps down some air before shakily asking. “What happened?”

“You were in accident, the building collapsed around you and you got trapped under debris. You were badly burn, and your arm was damaged beyond repair, they had no other choice than to remove it, I promise you, there was nothing else to be done.” He tries his best to keep his voice level, like he doesn't feel this deep pain resonating out from the center of his chest while he watches the man he loves tremble.

After a moment, Thomas drops back against the sheets, eyes blank and dull. Again, the little doctor wants to scream. Thomas never did anything but try to help people, it's just not fair. Instead of cursing out fate like his tongue is itching to do, Hamilton rubs his thumb in small circles across Jefferson shoulder.

“Thomas, I’m so sorry.” he mumbles. It’s a pathetic thing to say, but what else is there to do in this situation? He lays his head back down on the tall man’s chest, curling into his side. It’s still warm and familiar. “I’m sorry it turned out like this. But it’s going to be alright. We- We’ll get you started on physical therapy right away and get you fitted for a prothetic as soon as we can, okay?”

Thomas doesn’t say anything, but Hamilton feels him nod slightly. So he buries his face in the other man’s shoulder, and they just lay there for a long while in silence, letting it all soak in.

Eventually Alexander starts to press gentle kisses to Jefferson skin, muttering sweet words to him under his breath. “You’ll be fine” he promises. “You’re strong, stronger than I could ever hope to be. I love you, fuck Thomas, I love you so much” he whimpers

Thomas draps his good arm around his waist. “I love you too.”

They both cry.


End file.
